by Lesley Crewe
We would like to offer you a home with us. We don’t have much and the house is old, but we have good neighbours who help us from time to time. As long as you promise not to be a hippy-dippy, I suppose we’ll muddle through.
Yours truly,
Pearl Fairchild
I put the letter back in the envelope and tuck it under my pillow. She sounds like an old goat. Imagine saying stuff like that about my mother and grandmother? Who does she think she is?
The social worker knocks on my door the next day.
“So what do you think? Would you like to go home when you’re released?”
“Yes.”
I’ve never been on a plane before. The thought of taking off into the air and flying seems very romantic, but only if you’ve never been on a plane. The first thing I do is throw up into the little bag. Then I lock myself in the toilet and my insides run out. Eventually someone knocks on the door and asks me to hurry up. I want to die.
It’s bumpy from the time we take off to the time we land in Sydney. No one speaks to me, no one looks at me. That’s the way I like it. My hair is hanging in my face, I have on a brown wool poncho and old bell-bottom jeans. My wooden Dr. Scholl’s sandals click against the floor. Everything I own is in my crocheted shoulder bag.
As soon as I walk through the airport door, I get out of the way of the people coming behind me and stand to the side. I’ll close my eyes so that if no one is here to pick me up, I can say I must have missed them. The time ticks by. I knew it.
“Amazing Grace?”
A tall, thin old woman in a coat down to her ankles purses her lips at me.
A short, fat old woman with a similar coat smiles at me and sings, “How sweet the sound…”
“Mae, for crying out loud. You’re in an airport. Can we presume you are Amazing Grace?”
“Of course she is, Pearl,” Mae beams. “She looks just like Trixie.”
“Hardly. I see her good-for-nothing grandfather around her eyes. Don’t you?”
“Gracious, no. How are you, dear? It’s so wonderful to meet you. I’m your great-aunt Mae and this bag of hot air is my sister Pearl. You can call us aunts. It’s easier.”
I stand stiffly as Aunt Mae tries to put her arms around me, but they’re too short; she pats my shoulder instead.
“It’s polite to say hello,” Aunt Pearl points out. “Has no one taught you manners? I can see we have our work cut out for us, Mae.”
“Don’t be so foolish. I’m sure Amazing Grace is a simply wonderful child. Aren’t you, dear?”
There she goes again with that “dear.” I should reward her with something.
“Yes.”
Aunt Mae claps her hands together. “What did I tell you, Pearl? She’s wonderful.”
Aunt Pearl grunts. “Do you have a suitcase?”
“No.”
“Land sakes! They send you down here with not a stitch of anything? People in Ontario think they’re God’s gift to humanity, but it’s obvious they’re lacking in brains. Who throws a child on a plane with nothing? Remind me never to go there.”
They scurry me out to the car, obviously their pride and joy. Mae tells me it’s a 1955 two-toned blue and cream Pontiac, with chrome detail. I settle into the biggest back seat I’ve ever been in. My aunts talk over one another from the front seat—not that I can see Aunt Mae’s head, but she bobs to the side every now and again.
“We have to leave right away,” Aunt Pearl says. “I don’t like driving in the dark.”
Aunt Mae’s gloved hand appears with something wrapped in tinfoil. “We thought you might be hungry.”
I take it and then she passes me a thermos.
“Say thank you!” Aunt Pearl glares at me in the rear-view mirror.
“Thanks.”
Aunt Mae pats her sister on the shoulder. “Let’s not start with the rules just yet. Amazing has had a long day.”
Aunt Pearl shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s going to happen when she goes to school. That Turner kid from up the road will eat her for breakfast.”
The fat egg sandwich with moist homemade bread hits the spot. I drink all the milk, too.
They talk back and forth to each other, but I slide over to the window and look at the scenery. It’s very pretty here, with the green grass and blue water. Where are all the people?
It’s been a long day and it’s an even longer ride to get to their house. They live in the woods, with only a winding hilly road breaking up the trees and water. The sun is starting to set by the time Aunt Pearl puts her blinker on and pulls into a dirt driveway.
At first it seems creepy; the trees make me feel like I’m going to be swallowed whole. But there’s an outside light shining above the red front door and the swing on the front porch looks inviting.
Even though it’s August, the air is cool as the sun goes down. Once I’m out of the car, my arms are full of goosebumps and my toes are cold.
Aunt Pearl notices my feet as she searches for the key to unlock the door. “Are those the only shoes you own? You won’t get far in those once December hits.”
Aunt Mae puts her hand on my arm. “Then it’s a good thing we have lots of time to get you new shoes before the snow flies.”
They mutter and putter while putting away their coats and purses and insist on taking my poncho to hang on the hooks in the inside hall. When the door opens into the living room, with its rose wallpaper and rose-covered chairs, it’s hard to know where to look first. There is absolutely no room for another knick-knack whatsoever. I’ve never been in a house so full of stuff. They insist I sit in front of the fire while they attend to supper. The flames in the fireplace make me think of the burning barn. I wonder where Helen is now. I wonder if my mother and Maria ever came back to look for me.
My eyes keep closing in this heat, but Aunt Pearl’s strident, “Supper’s ready!” jolts me to attention. I join them in the kitchen. There’s a pine table already set with dishes in the middle of the room and my aunts in their full-length aprons standing by it.
“Sit down, my dear.” Aunt Mae pulls out my chair, so I sit in it.
Aunt Pearl zooms over with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, peas, and gravy. “Eat up. You’re too pale.”
They join me at the table, the two of them in their pearls. I get why Aunt Pearl wears pearls, but Aunt Mae seems to love them too. She has three strands that cuddle into the folds of her neck.
“Let’s say grace.” Aunt Mae bows her head and folds her hands together. “Thank you, oh Lord, for these thy gifts we are about to receive, and thank you for bringing Amazing Grace back home to us. Amen.”
I pick up the chicken with my fingers and their eyes get huge. I put it down.
“Fork and knife. Always fork and knife,” Aunt Pearl instructs. She stabs the air a few times. So I pick up my utensils and cut into the chicken. I have to say, it tastes better than when I rip it off the bone with my teeth.
Aunt Pearl clears her throat. “Your napkin goes on your lap, not tucked into your collar.”
Here’s me trying to impress them. I pull the napkin out and drop it on my lap. This woman is going to be a pain fairly soon.
“Let the child eat,” Aunt Mae smiles. “What sorts of things do you like to do, Amazing?”
Aunt Pearl’s hands go up. “I’m sorry, but I’m not calling this child Amazing. I don’t care if that is your given name, it grates on my nerves every time someone says it. Your name is also Grace. A very lovely name, as it happens. It belonged to our grandmother, and I wish you would do us the courtesy of using it while you are in this house. It’s not much to ask, is it?”
“I have a great-grandmother?”
“Of course you do, child! Grace would be your great-great grandmother. Where do you think you came from? The cabbage patch? Your great-grandmother’s n
ame was Mehitable, which we all agree was regrettable.”
Aunt Mae grins at me. “Pearl pretends she doesn’t have a sense of humour, but she does.”
At that moment a fat black and white cat waddles into the kitchen and sits beside me. He looks up with a sweet face and meows at me.
Tears pour out of my eyes and onto my plate. They are springing out, gushing out, and I have no idea how to stop them. My arms are limp by my sides as I howl. My two great-aunts sit with their mouths open, completely speechless, which I have to say is probably a rare state for them. My nose starts to run, I have saliva running out of my mouth. I am a crying machine that is stuck on the freak-out setting. It’s all too much.
Eventually, the crying slows and I’m just a hot red mess with a snotty face. I’m still whimpering but the shock is over for my dinner companions. Aunt Pearl gets up and grabs a whole lot of tissues and rubs the residue off my face. Aunt Mae comes behind her with a damp, cool tea towel and holds it against my burning cheeks.
“There, there, sweetheart. You’re here with us. You’re safe now.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOW
Melissa is grinning at me. “So it all worked out in the end.”
“No.”
Her face falls. “What do you mean? You can’t possibly still be in trouble. I think you’re making this up.”
“Is your life that simple? Is anyone’s?”
“You’re safe. You have two old ladies cooking for you. There’s no man lurking in the bushes anymore.”
“I was a train wreck who smashed into the world of two elderly ladies who wore gloves to drive the car. It wasn’t easy for any of us.”
I have to move, and so I get up to stretch my legs. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
“I’ll stay here then.”
“Okay, but you’ll miss the best part of the story.” I bundle up in my outer gear and leave the house. Before I’m down to the apple trees, she’s running after me. She’s out of breath when she catches up.
“You can’t just leave me here.”
“How often do you go for a walk at home?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Why? Are you going to tell me I’m too fat?”
“Why on earth would I tell you you’re fat?” I keep walking and she follows along.
“I don’t wear a size zero.”
I tip my head back and look up at the grey skies. We’re going to get rain before the day is out. “I don’t think I’d survive if I went to high school now.”
We walk through the soggy leaves down by the water. I point to the big rock further along the beach. “I used to sit there when I was your age. It was my refuge. Where do you go when things get tough?”
Melissa wipes her nose with the back of her coat sleeve. “Nowhere. My room, I guess.”
“But how can you shut everyone out when they’re attached to you day and night by an electronic umbilical cord? When do you just sit in silence?”
She picks up a rock and throws it in the water.
“You don’t strike me as the sort of girl who would want to have naked pictures of herself posted online.”
“You don’t know me very well then, do you?” She grabs a whole handful of rocks and throws them into the lake. “If you’re going to bug me about it, I’ll go back to the house. I don’t need a lecture.”
“Okay. Let’s keep walking and I’ll tell you the next chapter of the story.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEN
There are a lot of cool things happening in the early seventies, but they’re not happening to me. I’m in a backwater with two old fuddy-duddies who take their job as guardians to heart. Their charm wears off after a week. Not that I’m not grateful, but I went from a life of complete abandonment to a jail cell. It’s bound to end badly.
They don’t want me to go anywhere.
“You’ll get lost,” Aunt Mae frets. “There’s acres and acres of trees out here and if you wander off you won’t find your way back.”
“Can I go down to the water?”
Aunt Pearl is peeling onions. “Don’t go in the water. You might drown.”
“That might be sweet relief.” I slam the back screen door, but not before hearing, “Talk back and you’ll get a hiding!”
“Now Pearl,” Aunt Mae tsks.
The only place they’d like me to go is to church. I’m at breakfast when they bring this up. I dip a bread soldier in my egg yolk. “That is the last thing I need. Trust me.”
Strangely, they don’t challenge me on this. I thought for sure they’d start pecking away at me. I’m just grateful they leave it alone.
Mostly what I do is sit on my rock and smoke cigarettes. I’m running out and I don’t have any money. School starts in a week and I need some clothes, although who knows what they wear in this backwater. The thought of going into another school gives me hives. In the whole nightmare of the last few years, the agony of meeting new kids is the worst, because kids can smell desperation and I reek of it.
The aunts take me shopping. I’m mortified walking around with these two clucking behind me. Everything I like they hate, so I turn on my heel and walk out the door. I’m sulking when they find me, puffing on my last cigarette.
Aunt Pearl walks over and grabs it out of my hand. “Have you no shame? Standing here smoking like a common prostitute!” She grinds it under her shoe.
I point my finger at her. “That’s exactly what I was before I met you, and it’s what I do best.”
She slaps me in the face.
Aunt Mae hops about, wringing her hands. “Now Pearl! Was that necessary?”
“Who do you think you are?” I shout.
Aunt Pearl grabs my earlobe and hauls me over to the car. “I’ll tell you who I am, missy. I have the misfortune to be one of your relatives. A relative who will not put up with another spoiled brat living under my roof. Now get in that car!”
I yank the door open and slam it shut behind me. Then open it and slam it again. “You old bag!”
Aunt Mae clutches her chest. “Oh, dear. Oh, my. That really isn’t necessary. Pearl! Pearl! Where are you going?”
Aunt Pearl is ramrod straight as she walks back into the store with Aunt Mae running behind her. They come out with a shopping bag fifteen minutes later.
“I can’t believe this,” I say to no one. “What the hell is she doing?”
They get in the car and she throws the bag at me. “Clothes for school. If you don’t like them, you can go naked.”
So that’s how I end up wearing black slacks and a white blouse on the first day of school. My jeans were in the wash. A convenient coincidence?
The kids on the bus stare at me and I ignore them as we bounce towards higher learning. I’m in grade eleven now. This year and one more and I’m out of here. But then what? I’ve never made plans this far ahead. It’s always been pointless.
At lunch, one of the boys approaches my table with a bit of an attitude. He wouldn’t last a day in my former school.
“You seem to be the type who likes a good time. I’m Devon.”
“Fuck off, Devon.”
He grins. “Ouch! She bites!”
No sense in wasting this opportunity. “Do you have a smoke?”
“Sure thing. Come with me.”
He leads me through the hallway and out to the side door. There are a group of kids smoking cigarettes at the edge of the school property, all of them intent on sucking them down to the filter. We join them.
They want to know where I’m from. I tell them Chicago and they look impressed. So gullible.
“Do you drink?” asks Devon. “I’ve got some beer in the trunk of my car.”
I end up skipping my afternoon classes, getting drunk with Devon and rol
ling around in the back seat of his car.
He eventually takes me home but drops me off at the top of the driveway. “I’m not tangling with that skinny bitch. The fat one’s not so bad.”
He backs out onto the road and squeals his tires as he leaves. What a dork.
My aunts are in their rocking chairs looking mighty displeased.
“The school called,” Aunt Pearl says. “You disappeared after lunch. Where did you go?”
I plunk down on their flowered sofa. “I went driving around with a guy.”
“Who, dear?” Aunt Mae says.
“Devon.”
Aunt Pearl looks disgusted. “Devon Hibbs is an idiot! His father’s an idiot and so is his grandfather. The elevator doesn’t go to the top floor in that family.”
“Now Pearl,” Aunt Mae tsks.
“I forbid you to see that boy again.”
“Just how are you going to stop me?”
“Try me.”
I’ve had enough for one day. “Good night, ladies.” Staggering up the stairs, I’m aware that the sisters are whispering to each other. “I love you too!” I shout behind my shoulder.
As my aching hangover head goes around and around, I’m aware I’m being a big shithead. I just can’t summon the energy to care. But before I drift into semi-consciousness on my flowery quilted bed, it occurs to me that it’s nice that someone wondered where I was.
In the morning I apologize. Aunt Mae beams and Aunt Pearl grunts.
We have this hostile truce for a couple of months. I mess up plenty, drinking, smoking, toking on weekends with other kids, but I stop skipping school. That’s the thing that bugs the aunts the most, and I think that as long as I rinse with mouthwash, air out my clothes, and stop drinking a couple of hours before I go home, they’re none the wiser.
That’s how stupid you are when you’re young.